


Welcome Home Son, Welcome Home to Outer Banks

by VioletBlue



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Angst, Epic Bromance, Good Friend John B. Routledge, Group Homes, Hurt JJ (Outer Banks), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, JJ (Outer Banks) Needs a Hug, John B. Routledge Needs a Hug, Past Sexual Abuse, Platonic Relationships, Protective JJ (Outer Banks), Protective John B. Routledge, inspired by Newsies kinda vaguely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26335096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletBlue/pseuds/VioletBlue
Summary: John B and JJ have lived in a group home for troubled youth for three years now, under the tyrannical abuse of fake philanthropist Ward Cameron. There’s only one thing keeping them going: the promise of escape to a land of sun and joy and fresh starts. The dream of a place called the Outer Banks.Title is a play on Santa Fe from Newsies (which this fic is kinda sorta influenced by)
Relationships: JJ & John B. Routledge
Comments: 47
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: extreme child abuse. Takes place off-screen.

If you looked in the front office of the Cameron Home for Boys in Wilmington, North Carolina, you would see a clean, beige, unremarkable place, with slightly dusty plastic flowers and a polite, smiling guy at the desk named Rafe. Rafe would shake your hand, quick to assure you that helping these underprivileged boys has always been his father’s greatest honor.

There would be glossy photos of Ward Cameron: looking like a smiling, all-American father with his arms around two teen boys. Accepting an award for humanitarian efforts in a suit and tie. The brochures would have professional-quality pictures of scruffy-looking teenagers doing arts and crafts and playing sports and beaming gratefully at the camera. There was even a picture of two boys with messy mops of hair, one caramel brown and one sun-bleached blond. They were leaning in together, laughing at some private joke as Ward smiled paternally in the background. 

‘Donate now to help our group home support these troubled youth’, the tagline read at the bottom of the brochure. And many people did open their pockets for a tax-deductible donation, lured by the kindness and charisma that seemed to radiate from Ward Cameron, his hands tightly gripping the shoulder of whatever boy he had ‘rescued’ from the foster care system or the streets. 

But if you were to enter the back halls of the Cameron Home for Boys, on a day when a tour wasn’t scheduled and the security cameras were switched off, you’d see an entirely different world. 

John B waited with his head in his hands, perched on the edge of the plastic mattress on his narrow bottom bunk. It was too quiet in the room without JJ. He could hear mice scratching in the walls, and wondered if he should check on the stolen granola bars he had hidden under his mattress before the mice got them. His stomach had its usual dull ache of hunger: today’s meal had been typical for the dining hall, with undercooked black beans, a sticky glob of rice, and slimy greens. It was only on special occasions like a government inspection or a visit from a donor that the hamburgers and French fries were broken out: when unobserved, Ward Cameron liked to spend as little money on his charges as possible. All the easier to inflate his salary and pay for a yacht with the donation money.

But eating the granola bars now wasn’t a good idea. He should wait until Ward had withheld a few meals from either him or JJ, those days when their stomachs were so empty they cramped, and every movement sent a sickening wave of lightheadedness. 

And stealing more right now was too risky. Stealing food was why JJ wasn’t in the top bunk right now, making stupid jokes or throwing his balled-up socks to keep John B from thinking too much.

Stealing food was why John B had the first aid kit tucked under his pillow, waiting out the agonized hours until JJ was returned to him.

He heard the thumping gate of two footsteps in the hallway. His ears were well-practiced at picking up the distinctions of people’s approach down the echoing hallway. It sounded like JJ was walking upright at least. That was something. 

The footsteps slowed outside the door, and there a few beeps as somebody pushed the keypad to unlock the heavy door. John B stood up, trying to keep his hands from automatically balling up into fists as the door swung open.

The security guard there was Topper, a new guy that didn’t have quite the horrifying bloodlust as Rafe or Kelce or some of the others. Not to say he was an angel: he would whip out the baton just as easily as anybody else if an authority figure was watching. And he had a vein of toxic insecurity that was sometimes just as dangerous as Rafe’s unfettered rage. If he was feeling bad about himself, he made sure that some other kid was feeling worse. 

JJ was upright, but pale and sweaty, and he was leaning heavily against Topper as he limped through the door. They hadn’t spared his face, seeing as there wasn’t going to be an inspection in a couple of weeks. There were cuts on his cheekbone and his jaw, surrounded by patches of swollen, purplish shadows that would darken into massive bruises.

“Hope your little friend here learned his lesson,” Topper drawled, giving JJ a shove that sent him sprawling into John B’s arms, a stifled whimper escaping his lips as John B caught him around his torso. 

“I guess we’ll just have to see,” John B ground out, looking at the ground to keep the hatred in his eyes from showing. He couldn’t give Topper an excuse to start in on him, or worse, JJ. The fucks who ran this place had been known to beat one of the boys as a way of punishing the other. JJ was the toughest person John B. knew, but even he couldn’t handle any more right now.

“You got any stitches stuff for me?” John B. asked in a monotone. Ward didn’t pay for a nurse or any medic, who could of course tell the feds exactly what was happening behind closed doors at the Cameron Home, so the understanding was the teens would be given enough medical supplies to keep each other from dying. There was a flash of something almost apologetic on Topper’s face as he shook his head, but it was immediately covered by the snide, indifferent mask.

“He shouldn’t need that,” Topper said shortly. “But here’s this,” and he threw a small blue tube of cream at John B. Then he was out the door, the slam echoing as the lock re-engaged. 

“Fuck that guy,” JJ said. His voice was raw and cracked. Shit. That meant he might have been screaming. 

“Come on,” John B said, helping JJ bend down to fit on the bottom bunk. JJ hissed as his torso contracted and John B slid his hands underneath JJ, trying with all his might to steady him. When JJ hit the mattress he squeezed his eyes tight, a single tear trickling down the side of his face. 

“Mostly the upper body?” John B. asked. His voice was professional. They had gone over this routine so many times, taking turns patching each other up after Ward and his minions tried to beat submission and obedience into them. 

Thank God, it hadn’t worked yet.

JJ grunted affirmatively. 

“I don’t think they broke anything, but they had a lighter.”

John B. swore loudly as he carefully eased off JJ’s shirt. Sure enough, there were small patches of red, puffy burned skin overlying the bruises on his torso. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” John B. gasped as he slipped the shirt over JJ’s head. “Those pieces of shit.”

“Something new, huh? Just when we think we’ve seen it all. At least it wasn’t as bad as that time they used that fucking gaff hook thing.”

“You mean when I broke my arm because I tripped on a stick?” John B said, catching JJ’s eyes. He saw his own bitterness reflected there.

“Yeah, a stick that came flying at you in Ward Cameron’s hand,” JJ said with a huff that might have been laughter. Good, laughing was a good sign. 

John B. finished palpitating JJ’s ribs, and was satisfied that nothing was broken or cracked. He turned his attention to the blue tube in his hands, which sure enough was a medicated burn cream. 

He squeezed out a droplet on his fingers experimentally. 

“Okay dude I’m gonna start applying this, yeah? It says it has novocaine in it.”

“Wow, painkillers. Topper must have a crush on me.”

John B. tightened his lips and didn’t respond. JJ’s humor had always been twisted and self-deprecating, but this jab came a little too close to the truth for John B.’s tastes. He still remembered Barry, the sleazy dude from six months ago who had tried to force JJ to suck his dick. John B. still had a scar on his back from the beating he’d gotten after attacking Barry. Luckily, the asshole had gotten fired for trying to blackmail Ward. Nobody threatened Ward Cameron and came out ahead.

John B. started applying the cream in slow circles on the most swollen-looking burn mark. JJ groaned. 

“Wow, that shit is magic,” he muttered, his eyes flickering closed. 

John B. watched JJ’s face with concern as he continued to lightly massage the medicine into the inflamed skin. 

“They get your head at all?” he asked. JJ didn’t seem abnormally groggy, but John B. didn’t want him drifting off before he ruled out concussion. JJ had already had two of those thanks to Rafe and his complete lack of humanity.

“Just my pretty face a couple of times,” JJ said, squinting down at John B. “Don’t worry, brain is intact. I’m still just as charming and witty.”

John B. grinned for JJ’s sake, although he felt like throwing up. 

He finished his treatments in silence, then stepped back to wash his hands in the spotted, rusty sink in the corner of their room. He turned back and briefly assessed the situation. There was no way JJ was making it up to the top bunk in his state. 

“Move over, big guy,” John B. said, gently pushing JJ to the far end of the bed. They usually ended up sharing a bed after one of them had been worked over. Part of it was to continue to monitor symptoms throughout the night, but the other part was just to have someone nearby. Someone who wouldn’t say anything when the other woke up crying, or gasping from a flashback. Just a steadying presence to sink into and let the horrors melt away into the night.

After the lights were out and the first aid kit was stored back away, John B. took a deep breath. He saw that JJ was still awake, his eyes staring blankly up at the paint-chipped wood of the bunk above them. The hand resting on his chest was trembling slightly, whether with pain or leftover adrenaline John B. didn’t know. 

“So, I’m thinking we’ll both be surfers.” John said into the darkness. He saw JJ’s smile twitch out of the corner of his eye. It was an old game, one they both knew well. Something to keep the anger and hurt at bay. A moment of pretending that there was a future for them outside of these dingy halls, a moment just waiting to be seized. 

“I would kick your ass at surfing,” JJ said. 

“No way, dude,” John B. protested. 

“Yeah, I would. You’re such a city kid. You’d probably get eaten by a shark.”

“Um no, you would because you’d bring steak or something on your surfboard.”

JJ chuckled hoarsely. “When we get out I’m eating so much steak.”

“And fish we catch with our bare hands. And smoking weed all day.”

“And we’ll go boating and drink beer and have ragers on the beach.”

JJ’s eyes closed, a small smile on his face. His hand had stopped shaking.

“We’ll get there,” John B. promised. And looking at JJ’s multicolored bruises next to him, he believed it. They would get out of here, off the mainland, to a place where they could drown their troubles in saltwater and seaweed.

A place they’d been dreaming of since they’d first ended up as roommates in this hellhole, trading stories of their absent mothers and neglectful fathers and scary foster homes. Cleaning each other up and talking each other down, giving each other an anchor of sanity in the brutal environment of the Cameron Home.

“Just hold on, dude, til we get to Outer Banks.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Bro, the cooks are getting worse,” JJ said, skeptically staring at what constituted dinner. John B. was pretty sure it was supposed to be pasta, but his memory of pasta on the outside was not quite so grayish or gloopy or oddly sweet. 

JJ took an experimental bite, then shrugged and shoveled a forkful in his mouth. 

“Tastes like glue,” he said, smacking his lips. 

“And you know what that tastes like?”

“Totally,” JJ said. “You try telling a hungry four-year-old not to eat that nice white stuff that looks like frosting. That’s why I have a stomach of fucking steel now, dude. You name it, I tried to eat it.”

John B. gave an obligatory laugh and raked his fork through the pasta-stuff. JJ was always full of bravado and quick jokes about his life before Cameron House, but John B. still cringed to hear some of the details. Big John had never been a stellar parent, and when he disappeared John B. spent years being furious with him. He had abandoned his son to a life of dodging blows at foster homes and then trying to just survive day to day at the Cameron House. But once John B. heard the details of JJ’s original home life, he’d stopped being so resentful of his own father. At least he’d spent his early years well-fed and relatively safe.

JJ’s face darkened as he looked over John B.’s shoulder. “Ward warning,” he muttered, glowering down at his plate. “Looks like a whole fucking family outing.”

“Rose and the girls, too?” John B. asked blankly. Ward’s trophy wife and younger daughters made intermittent appearances at the group home, usually to take a family photo for a magazine profile or something. 

“Just the one our age. Stacy or whatever.”

“Sarah,” John B. corrected automatically. 

JJ gave him a weird look, but then ducked his head. “Coming right for us,” he muttered.

“Hello, boys. How are you today?” Ward’s booming voice was all fatherly warmth and concern as they approached. To any outsider, he was just a pleasant care worker inquiring about their well-being. But surely a careful observer would notice how both boys tensed at the sound of his voice. It appeared that Sarah Cameron was not a careful observer. 

“Hi,” she said cheerily, swinging a sheet of hair behind her bare, tanned shoulders. “I’m Sarah.”

John B. looked up and gave her a strained smile, noticing the waft of fruity perfume coming from her hair. JJ’s eyes remained firmly on the table, gripping his fork so tightly it was shaking slightly. 

“John B.,” he said when it appeared that she was waiting for something. “And this is JJ.” JJ gave a nod so small it looked more like a twitch, his eyes still stubbornly downcast and his mouth downturned. 

“Dad, I think I’ll talk to them,” Sarah said, turning to Ward. She shifted her small leather backpack on to one shoulder and pulled out… was that a notebook?

“No honey, I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Ward said quickly. “JJ’s been feeling a little under the weather, we should probably let him rest.”

JJ let out a quiet but unmistakable scoff. John B. caught his eyes, shooting daggers at him. This was really not the fucking time. JJ wasn’t even recovered from the last punishment. 

“What was that, JJ?” Ward said. The tone was kind, but the threat was palpable underneath the words.

“Nothing, sir,” JJ said with gritted teeth. 

Sarah had sat down, uncapping a glitter pen, apparently oblivious to the moment of tension. 

“I’m in this journalism class, and we have to interview someone who is different from us. I thought I’d ask one of you guys.”

“Honey, I really think we should move on, there’s some other kids that I want you to meet.”

“No, Dad, I want to interview John B.,” Sarah said in a tone that brooked no argument. John B. could tell she was used to getting what she wanted. 

“Don’t worry Mr. Cameron, we’ll tell Sarah everything she needs to know,” JJ said. He was meeting Ward’s eyes now, openly defiant. 

“You boys play nice,” Ward said, with a chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. His hand found John B.’s shoulder and squeezed, hard. John B. tried not to squirm under his touch. Ward was looking directly at JJ as his grip tightened. “I’m not worried, I know how much you care for each other.” He put his hand on John B.’s other shoulder, shifting more weight on to the boy, and John B. briefly closed his eyes, forcing down the nausea brought on by the feeling of the man’s hands on him. 

The message was clear. If JJ made problems for Ward, it was John B. who would pay for it. 

JJ glared helplessly before letting his head drop in defeat. 

“Only five minutes, Sarah, then we have to go,” Ward said, releasing John B. “Take care, JJ.” He slapped JJ’s back, a hearty, football coach gesture that left JJ struggling to contain his flinch. John B. knew Ward had been aiming for the bruises. 

Sarah was looking at them with a slight frown as her father marched off. 

“What are your questions?” John B. said quickly. He wanted her gone as soon as he could, so he could yell at JJ for baiting Ward and also get as much physical distance between that fucking creep and himself as possible. 

“Okay, where did you grow up?” 

“Wilmington. Next?”

“What do you like to do for fun?”

“We like to build sandcastles and have tea parties,” JJ said, his voice noxious with sarcasm. JJ was about to fucking lose it, John B. could tell. And he understood. If they didn’t get away from this pampered girl and her naive-as-fuck questions, both boys were going to say something they regretted. 

“Read and play basketball,” John B. answered instead. The only two things that were available to them in the Cameron House, besides some picked-over puzzles and the occasional truly awful art therapy session with a woman named Moon who smelled bad and never listened to anyone but her own droning voice.

“What’s your greatest dream?” John B. glanced over at JJ, who shook his head imperceptibly. Outer Banks was their private dream, not for consumption by stupid school projects.

“To go to the beach,” he said shortly instead. It was all the truth she would get out of him. 

“Really? Go to the beach? That’s all you got? Not go to Harvard or become an astronaut or travel the world?”

John B. stared hard at her. He thought he saw a flicker of discomfort in her cinnamon brown eyes. When he trusted himself to speak he just said, “That’s all I got. The beach.”

“Okay, thanks,” she said, flipping her notebook closed. “Um, I hope you have a good day.”

“Yeah,” JJ snarled. “We’ll just have a peachy keen day.”

Sarah hurried away, looking back at them with something like concern. He saw that asshole Topper head her off at the door, his arms crossed with a cocky expression on his face. He was clearly flirting, leaning over to pull an imaginary hair off her sweater. It gave John B. a weird sense of satisfaction to see her brush off his advances with an eye roll and sweep out of the door, leaving Topper sulking in her wake.

“Fucking Camerons,” JJ hissed, stabbing his cold pasta gloop with his fork. He started eating again, even though he looked pale and sick. He’d learned by now never to waste food. “What a spoiled bitch.”

“She doesn’t know any better,” John B. said hollowly. 

“Why are you defending her, dude?” JJ demanded, shoveling in the last of his food and then standing abruptly. “She’s one of them.” 

“I don’t know,” John B. muttered. Suddenly, he just felt so tired. He wanted to take a shower, wash off the feel of Ward’s threatening grip and the panic storm it had set off in his nervous system, memories of past pain and fear flooding through his brain and body.

JJ’s face softened when he saw the exhaustion in John B.’s face.

“I’m sorry, man. Let’s just go back to the room.”

They walked back together, slowly because JJ was still weak from his most recent beating. 

“I shouldn’t have let him get to me,” JJ said quietly, pausing to rest against the wall and rubbing the sweat off of his forehead. “Thanks for you know, staying chill. For me.”

That was what John B. did. He calmed JJ down, kept him in line, kept his fire from blazing out of control. But also, John B. needed JJ’s fire. It was unpredictable and sometimes destructive, but it kept John B. from sinking into the darkness. With JJ there to make him laugh and hug him and share stolen bags of chips, there was no true despair, no matter how much shit Ward and the others could throw at them.

But John B. couldn’t quite put all that in words, so he just said “I love you, man.”

“Love you too, buttercup,” JJ said with a wry but genuine smile. There was a beat. “Okay but seriously, you thought Sarah was hot, didn’t you?”

“Shut up,” John B. said, shoving his arm lightly. 

“You totally want to mack her dude,” JJ shrieked, hobbling further down the corridor, and John B. shook his head with a laugh and followed his friend onward, just like he always would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think so far! <3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: explicit physical abuse, threats of sexual abuse

John B. was thinking about scuba diving. There were probably better things to think about while getting your ass kicked, but scuba diving seemed as good of an escape as any. Sparkling blue waters, dancing bubbles, darting fish…

It beat thinking about Rafe’s twisted face or Kelco’s crude smile as they beared down on either side of him, peppering his body with kicks as he curled up pathetically, waiting for them to lose interest. 

“You like that, princess?” Rafe hissed, aiming a kick at John B’s sternum. John B. raised his hand instinctively to block the blow and then yelled as the boot made contact with his finger with a sickening pop. 

“Fuck!” John B. screamed, hunching his body around his right hand. 

“Boys,” came Ward’s sharp, booming voice from across the room. “I told you no visible damage. Senator Shoupe will be here next Friday.”

John B. panted into the carpet of Ward’s office, trying to breathe through the pain burning in his hand. He rolled over on his back with effort and squeezed his eyes shut against the nausea and dizziness. 

He heard Ward’s footsteps approach and he kept his eyes stubbornly closed. Think of dolphins, or coral, or shipwrecks in the deep... 

He heard Ward kneeling down over him. 

“That’s probably broken, Jesus Christ, Rafe. Are you so fucking incomptent that you can do nothing right?” 

“Dad, I’m sorry, he just moved his hand really suddenly…”

“Shut up. Kelco, go get some ice. We need to get the swelling down before the senator can see.”

“Look at me, you piece of shit,” Ward hissed, jabbing John B. in the bruised ribs and sending a shooting hot pain down his side. John B. allowed himself one glorious moment of fantasizing about spitting in Ward’ face. Then he opened his eyes. 

“If Shoupe asks, you jammed your finger playing basketball.”

“Yessir,” said John B. dully. Soon he would be gone from here, and Ward would never see him again. He’d never have to deal with any of this ever again, not once he and JJ got free. Not once they made it to the islands.

“Take him back to his room,” Ward said with disgust, turning back to his desk. “And you can tell your friend that if he acts up in front of my daughter again, it’ll be more than a broken finger.”

John B. didn’t answer at first, mostly because he was trying not to pass out as Rafe roughly dragged him to a standing position. When the room came back into focus he saw Ward staring coolly at him, leaning against his massive desk. 

There was a silver picture frame of Sarah on the desk. She was smiling softly at the camera, her hair swept behind her shoulders. 

Rafe tugged John B’s shoulder and pain flared through his arm, but John B. focused every bit of willpower he had on keeping his battered body upright. He didn’t want to give either Cameron that satisfaction of seeing him stumble. 

“Your daughter must be so proud of you,” John B. said, giving Ward his biggest, falsest smile. 

Ward’s face hardened and he lunged forward, his arm swinging towards John B.’s temple before stopping at the last moment, his fist centimeters from John B.’s head. 

“You think you’re cute, kid? I swear to God after this fucking politician leaves I’m teaching you and your fucking friend how to have some goddamn respect.”

John B. refused to break eye contact, although his entire body was shaking. 

“I got some old friends I might invite back. You remember Barry? Good kid. Real… creative in his methods.”

John B. felt like his heart had stopped. Of course he remembered Barry… he remembered Barry with his hand in JJ’s hair and his other hand unbuckling his belt, the lust in his eyes as he held the other boy down before John B. had tackled him…

“No,” he said out loud, and he didn’t care if it sounded like a threat or a plea. “No, you can’t.”

“Try me, boy,” Ward hissed, and John B. could tell that he meant it. There was no flicker of humanity in those pale blue eyes.

John B. sagged against Rafe and tried not to see the victory that flashed across Ward’s face as he was dragged out of Ward's office. 

Okay. Okay. They needed to move soon. They couldn’t wait any longer. The Cameron House was about to be even less safe than it already was. 

They needed to get out this week. 

When they reached his room, Rafe shoved John B to the floor. His face was red, clearly still smarting from his father’s humiliation of him. He threw the ice pack at John B’s head. 

“Take care of that finger, princess. My next shift is the day after Senator Shoupe leaves. We’ll see how many of your fingers we can get to match.”

He slammed the door and John B. didn’t dare exhale until he heard Rafe’s retreating stomp.

“Well he seemed like a barrel of laughs today,” came JJ’s brittle voice. John B. started. He didn’t realize JJ was back from his own little adventure with the Cameron House guards. He was in John B’s bottom bunk again. “What’d he do to your finger?”

“Broke it,” John B. hissed, carefully inching over to the bed. “Ward was pissed.”

JJ was propped up on his elbows, scanning John B. with fear in his eyes. But he hadn’t gotten up from the bed. 

Shit, that was probably not good. 

“Anything else broken?” JJ asked, craning to get a look at John B. 

“Nah,” he said, wrapping the ice pack around his finger gingerly. “You? Was it just Topper?”

“No, it was Topper and this new guy. Topper’s so shit at his job though. They’re supposed to keep us looking presentable for this Shoupe asshole, and I am definitely not right now.”

“What happened?” John B leaned his head against the thin mattress, taking a moment to rest before hoisting himself up.

“My knee. An iron wrench. I, um... I actually can’t walk on it.” JJ’s voice cracked and John B. looked up sharply. 

“What? You can’t walk?”

“I mean, I couldn’t right afterwards. They had to like, carry me, back here. And it’s only gotten more swollen since then.”

John B. took a breath and stood up, leaning against the rickety bed rails for support. He sat down heavily next to JJ and peeled back the sheets. 

JJ’s right knee was a swollen, bulging mess, mottled with green and blue. 

“What the fuck?” John B. said letting his hand hover over the skin. It was hot and tight under his touch. 

“I think he might have a crush on the Cameron chick. He was like, way more angry than he needed to be,” JJ said through clenched teeth. “If it doesn’t get better in a couple of weeks, they’ll probably take me to the doc, like when they broke your arm. Say I fell down the stairs or whatever. 

“No, we can’t wait a couple of weeks.” John B. said, turning to meet JJ’s eyes. He saw the confusion in them. “We’re leaving this Friday.”

“Dude, I can’t walk.” He barked out a hollow laugh. “I can’t fucking walk. Where do you think I’m going?”

“Trust me, JJ, it’s… we can’t stay here. Senator Shoupe is the perfect diversion. We just need to make a plan and then it’s home free. Outer Banks. Fishing and ferries and parties.” He couldn’t tell JJ the reason why right now. He remembered the nightmares, how JJ had woken up sweating and shaking and flinching even from John B’s touch. How much of JJ’s light had dimmed until the day Barry was fired. 

He just couldn’t bring himself to tell JJ what Ward was planning.

“Do you trust me?” he said instead. 

“That’s some corny shit, bro.”

“Answer the fucking question, Maybank. 

“Yeah, of course, man. But I also trust that this leg is toast right now.”

“Well I’m gonna get us out of this hellhole. And I’m gonna do it by Friday.”

JJ looked at him for a long time without speaking. 

“You serious right now?” he said at last, his voice soft. 

“Dead serious. We’re gonna do it. Would I let you down? No way.”

“Okay then,” JJ said, and something like excitement sparked in his eyes even though his face was still creased in pain. “Let’s fucking go to Outer Banks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little late, but I'll be able to update more frequently from here on out. 
> 
> Pls let me know if you're liking it. Angst-central, as usual :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: mention of physical and sexual child abuse.

“That plan is such shit,” JJ said. Then he flicked a bead at John B.’s head. 

“Excuse me,” John B. protested, dodging the flying bead and looking around to make sure no one just saw that. “It’s a brilliant plan.” 

JJ rolled his eyes and held up the mangled wreck of a poster he was making. There had been a sudden rush of mandatory arts and crafts sessions in the lead-up to Senator Shoupe’s arrival, to decorate the halls of the Cameron House with hand painted banners and posters welcoming the politician to their humble abode. As a back-drop for the photo-op so the slimeball could get his pics hugging the poor misfortunates, before fucking off in blissful ignorance and leaving them all to wallow in this shitlhole. 

John B. wasn’t exactly starstruck by politicians. And somehow, he didn’t think JJ’s poster would make the cut to be hung up… it was all red paint and purple glitter and black skull and cross bones. It looked like something a deranged kindergartener might come up with. 

“You spelled senator wrong,” John B remarked mildly. 

“You know I didn’t go to most of elementary school,” JJ said, shrugging. “How would my dad be able to hit me if I was in a classroom drinking juice boxes?”

John B. was actually impressed JJ was literate at all, considering he’d had about two and a half years of formal schooling. But he didn’t say that. 

“Anyway, back to your shit plan. Have I mentioned it’s shit?” JJ lined up another bead for maximum flicking impact, but John B swatted it away before his fingers could make contact.

“It will work,” John B. insisted. “We just need someone to be the lookout as we climb into the trunk and close it after us without latching it. Do you think we can trust that dude Adam? Or maybe Cody Guerrera?”

“Okay one, no way, they’ll both fold at the first fucking slap. Some kids can’t take a hit,” JJ said disdainfully. “And two, you honestly think that security or whatever is just gonna let two cardboard boxes in the back of his car without checking them? And not notice that they’re full of two stupid runaways?”

“Oh come on, he’s not gonna have like, bodyguards with him. He’s a little nobody junior senator visiting a children’s group home for a photo-op.”

“And how are you planning on sneaking out right under Ward’s nose?”

“Easy,” John B. said, giving JJ’s ankle a little kick under the table. JJ winced as the impact twinged his bad knee, and John B. felt a little bad. But not too bad. JJ didn’t even know what kind of pain John B. was trying to save him from. “We say you're too weak from your injury to keep standing up, and that you have to lay down. I say I’m staying with you, and I help you walk to the benches by the door to lay down, and Ward won’t send anyone after us because the press is there, and he can’t look bad. And then when nobody is watching we slip out the door.”

JJ frowned and opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it.

“Will it even be a lie, about your leg?” John B. pressed. “Have you tried standing on it for more than a minute?”

JJ scowled, because they both knew John B. was right. In fact, JJ hadn’t made it to the dining hall today without putting almost all his weight on John B.’s shoulder and letting the bad leg basically drag behind him. JJ’s pain tolerance was insane, so it must be really bad if he was making those tiny, audible huffs of distress whenever he stood up or sat down or even shifted his position. 

“Nah, it won’t be a lie,” JJ said quietly, rolling a bead between his fingers. “And that’s the whole fucking problem.”

He looked up at John B. and his face was desperate. 

“I can’t run on this leg, man. If shit goes south, I can’t book it. I don’t even know if I can crawl out of the trunk of the car.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and then put them carefully in his lap, his overlong hair falling in his downcast eyes as he took a deep, shaky breath.

“Maybe you should just go,” he said, almost too softly to be heard. “I would just slow you down, dude. I’ll catch up with you if this heals.”

John B. didn’t miss the phrasing. 

“When, it heals, dipshit. It’s going to heal.” He tried to catch JJ’s eye, but JJ was staring stubbornly at his disturbing poster. “And I’m not gonna fucking leave you here. You wouldn’t last a day without me taking care of your ass.” 

It was a joke, but JJ didn’t laugh, or return the jibe like he normally would. He just exhaled and shook his head a little. 

“Right,” he said, flatly and with an edge of sarcasm. 

“C’mon, man,” John B. said, and he didn’t care that he was basically pleading. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were on the same team. He hated it when they fought, and it happened so rarely that it almost felt like betrayal when they weren’t on the same page, all the time. 

“Just, why the goddamn urgency?” JJ said. “Why does it have to be right fucking now? I hate this place as much as you, but I’m not looking forward to the ass-kicking we both get when we get caught. You saw what they did to us just for talking to Ward’s daughter. What are they gonna do when they find us hiding in a politician’s Range Rover?”

“I…” John B. trailed off. Maybe JJ did deserve to know. And if John B. had to deal with a few extra nightmares from JJ, then whatever. At least it would light a fire under his ass to get out. 

“They’re bringing back Barry,” John B. said, before he had a chance to stop himself. Now he was the one avoiding JJ’s eyes. Maybe he was weak, but he couldn’t stand to see what kind of horror would be dawning on JJ’s face. “He, um… well Ward knows what he tried to do to you. And he thinks it’ll be a good punishment threat.” John B’s eyes burned and he was suddenly aware that they were in a public place. Yes, it was filled with the pandemonium of six dozen teenage boys with glitter guns and nobody was even remotely in ear shot, but still. When he spoke again, his voice was pitched even lower than before. 

“I’m scared I won’t be able to stop him again. And I’m scared he’ll get to you.” And really, that was it. The most naked truth that John B. had. JJ asked for it. There it was.

JJ sagged in his chair and laughed. A humorless, wrenching, devastated laugh.

“You’re a fucking idiot sometimes, man.” 

John B. had never heard anyone sound so fond and so bitter at the same time.

“The fuck are you talking about,” John B. hissed. “He would have… you know… until I saw him… he was gonna...” 

“He would have fucked my throat?” JJ prompted. “Yeah, he was pretty good at that.”

“He…” John B. stared at JJ in dawning horror. JJ looked almost sympathetic. 

“But I stopped him,” John B. said thickly. 

“No dude, that was just the only time you saw. It had been happening for weeks. And I was letting it happen. How do you think you got permission to go to the hospital after the gaff hook beating? How do you think you got those painkillers?”

“What? Why?” John B. hissed. “How could that… doing that be worth it?”

“You didn’t see yourself,” JJ said, his eyes flashing. “Your wrist was all swollen and you had a concussion, and I could barely keep you awake or stop the bleeding. So Barry said he’d get you to a hospital, if you know... I let him do shit to me. So I did. And I don’t fucking regret it, Routledge. Because you got a cast and a blood transfusion and an MRI and some drugs, and all I had to do was let some fuckwad give me a sore throat.”

“I’m… fuck, JJ. You should have told me.”

JJ shrugged. “I would have. I was gonna tell you after you tackled him. But they’d fucked you up so bad, and I couldn’t deal with it right then so I decided I’d tell you once your stitches were out. And by that time Barry was gone, and I thought it didn’t matter anymore.”

He paused and looked away, clenching his jaw. “I’m sorry, okay? I just… he didn’t like, break me or anything, you know? And like yes, it will fucking suck if he comes back but that wouldn’t break me either. It’d just be some more shit to survive.”

John B. leaned forward and opened his mouth but was startled by a horn blaring from the front of the room. Both boys jumped, JJ groaning as his flinch jostled his bad knee. 

“Time’s up,” came Kelce’s bored drawl, pocketing the air horn with a smirk. “Leave your posters on the table and clean up your shit.” 

There was a clatter as chairs were pushed in, materials thrown back in the bins, and boys started sweeping past their table, chatting in low voices ranging from excitement to dread about the big visitor. 

“Dude…” John B. started hoarsely, but JJ shook his head. 

“Later,” he muttered under his breath, looking around as the room slowly emptied. “Just help me get out of here.”

John B. nodded and stood up, slowly walking around to the other side of the long table. He bowed his head so that JJ couldn’t see his face. 

He didn’t want to go back to their room. He didn’t want to lie on the thin, lumpy mattress and close his eyes and think about all of the things JJ had done to protect him. He didn’t want to listen to JJ’s sleepless night tossing on the bunk above him. He didn’t want to smile when Ward Cameron told him to smile, or grovel when Rafe forced him to grovel, and he wanted to break Topper’s face until it was as swollen as JJ’s knee, as painful had John B.’s arm had been before JJ had done what he had to do. 

His hands were shaking when he glanced up and saw her. Straightened hair, a crop top, and a kind smile on her face as she talked with one of the new, younger kids, helping him wrangle the pipe cleaners on to his shitty poster. 

He heard her laugh across the room, and she did a little dance when he held the poster up to her for approval. 

Then, Rafe was there. 

John B. was too far away to hear what he was whispering into Sarah’s ear, but he couldn’t miss the look of disgust and anger on her face. She pushed him away, hard, and glared at him while spitting something back that made him glower. 

John B’s first response was panic… Rafe hated being talked back to, he was gonna hurt her, John B. had to stop it…

But Rafe just snarled and cuffed the kid who Sarah had been talking to on the back of the head, and the kid took off like a shot. No matter how new you were to Cameron House, you learned to get out of the fucking way when Rafe Cameron was mad. 

Sarah stared after Rafe’s retreating back with something like hatred. 

John B. was a split second from hurrying over to her to make sure she was okay before he stopped himself. Last time Ward had suspected him of messing with his daughter, the consequences had been insanely out of proportion… his finger was still aching dully, and JJ still couldn’t walk. 

He would be an idiot to try it again. Right?

So instead he rounded the far edge of the table and hurried back to JJ, who was staring blankly ahead, chewing on the inside of his lip. 

“Ready?” John B. asked distractedly, and JJ nodded, paling as he lugged his bad leg over the bench-seat and biting down on his lip as John B. dragged him to his feet.

“You good?” John B. looked at JJ’s creased eyebrows in concern. 

“Peachy,” muttered JJ dully. 

They started their slow, cumbersome walk back to their bedroom, JJ’s arm slung over John B.’s shoulder. John B. was concentrating too hard on keeping JJ upright to really notice Sarah Cameron standing in the doorway until they were almost on top of her.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice was quiet. Almost sad. 

“Uh, hi,” John B. said. She was looking at JJ, who was currently stubbornly staring at the ground and half-collapsed against John B’s side. John B. thought it was a mark of how much he had to be hurting that he didn’t even make one smart-ass comment to Sarah.

When she looked up at John B, there were tears in her eyes. 

She knows, he realized with a pang.

“You do you guys, um, need any help with anything?” she asked, shifting her weight to one foot. He noticed again how her eyes were the color of cinnamon, and how bright they were when they were glistening with tears. 

John B. looked around. There was no sign of any of the Cameron House employees, but you never knew. Besides, Sarah could just be talking about arts and crafts help.

“We’ll let you know if there’s ever anything you can do,” John B. said carefully. 

She nodded and stepped back from the door. “Here,” she muttered, rustling through her purse and she pressed something into JJ’s hand. John B. glanced down and saw a slip of silver foil before JJ pocketed it with the stealth of a boy who’d been sneaking things as long as he could walk.

If someone had told him last week that Ward Cameron’s daughter would be smuggling them ibuprofen in the dining hall, he would not have believed a word.

JJ looked up and gave a brief nod, his eyes fixed somewhere over Sarah's shoulder and lips pursed in a tight line. 

“We’ll let you know,” John B. repeated. 

“Please do,” Sarah said softly, and then she cleared her throat and turned, quickly wiping her eyes on her wrist before striding away with purpose. 

The boys were silent during the long walk back. But John B. knew they were both thinking the same thing.

Maybe they did have one ally at Cameron House after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Argh!! Hope you like this chapter, please hit me up with any and all kinds of feedback. Thanks so much for reading <3


	5. Chapter 5

Of course. Of course there would be a full-on freak hurricane on the day that they planned their big escape. 

Flooded highways. Shelter in place orders. Winds scattering tree branches like matchsticks. It had come on too suddenly to prepare, shocking scientists who should probably stop being shocked by weird weather by now. 

Even her name was irritating: Agatha. It sounded like a gagging noise. 

“We,” JJ said lightly, as the lights flickered for the fifth time that morning, “are completely fucked.”

John B. shrugged his agreement, too tired for forced positivity. 

The Cameron House boys were sitting on the floor in matching shirts that Ward had sent out that morning. They were a horrifically ugly burnt orange color emblazoned with the Cameron House logo, and John B. noted wryly that they were long-sleeved and high-necked... covering as much evidence as possible. 

The senator’s team was buzzing around with a manic anxiety that was infectious. Even Topper and Kelco looked nervous, darting around the aides and reporters and other random asshats gathered for the ceremony. Apparently, the senator really should be elsewhere right now, issuing comforting messages to his constituents about global warming and shit, but instead he was stuck in a group home.

And John B. and JJ were just as stuck. You can’t smuggle yourself out in a car that can’t leave. Everyone was going to be staying here until further notice, as the water level rose steadily outside their door and the meteorologists blabbered about the unprecedented quick onset of the storm and the catastrophic damage, blah blah blah.

It did give John B a grim satisfaction to see the distress evident in Ward’s face as he tried to keep the bevy of aides and reporters corralled into the areas that had been spruced up for their visit. Who knows what they might discover if they wandered deeper into the halls than they were meant to? John B. had a vivid image of that nice reporter lady discovering the mice that were always running across the bedrooms. Or the handcuffs that they put on new arrivals, before the boys learned not to hit back.

There was another flicker of the lights, and this time the darkness lasted for ten full seconds. He heard shrill nervous giggles coming from somewhere over the near the hastily constructed stage.

With a screech of microphone feedback and a too-hearty chuckle, everyone turned their attention towards the stage. Ward had small sweat stains on the underarms of his dress shirt, but his ‘benevolent philanthropist’ mask was perfectly in place. 

“Hi everybody. I just want to thank you so much for your patience with these unexpected difficulties. I want y’all to know we are well outside of the storm surge area, and that this building is sturdy as a rock… I should know, I built it with my own two hands.”

There was a murmur of approving chuckles from the reporters and aides. JJ scoffed quietly next to John B., and John B. nudged his arm in acknowledgement. They both knew Ward was far too precious to do anything with his own two hands. Hell, he usually didn’t even beat them himself, just stood by and ordered his minions. John B. doubted he’d ever even done his own laundry. 

“So we’re pretty confident we can ride this through safely,” Ward droned on. “The roads are still closed for the time being, but here at the Cameron House we don’t believe in giving up. We’ve done a lot of work for this program, and I know the kids are all really looking forward to it, so we’re gonna go on as planned. We don’t let our boys down.”

There was a smattering of applause and cheers from the adults, enough to drown out the hiss of the actual Cameron House residents… JJ wasn’t the only one to sneer at that last line. 

“So let’s bring up our special guests,” Ward called out, and there was more applause. “As you know, our boys don’t always have the best role models to look up to, so as a special treat today we’re pleased to welcome the peer mentors from the Helpers of Tomorrow program!”

John B. allowed himself a eyeroll at the small troup of overachievers who timidly climbed on to the stage and shot strained smiles at the crowd. Rich, college-bound teenagers who just wanted to put ‘Volunteer’ on their resume. None of them would stick around after today, after they’d gotten their photo with the Senator for their Instagram and LinkedIn accounts. 

He noticed Sarah was up there, wearing a blazer and a pair of heels. But she wasn’t smiling like the rest of the teens. In fact, she looked pretty miserable. Maybe her Maserati had been hit by a tree branch or something. 

Or maybe, a more generous part of John B.’s brain conceded, it just really sucked to have Ward Cameron as a father. 

Trying to distract himself from the steady thrum of anxiety that had been building in strength all day along with the hurricane, he studied the group of high schoolers on stage. One of whom was now giving a wavering speech that included lots of phrases like ‘underprivileged’ and ‘just so fortunate to be able to learn from these inspiring kids.’ 

John B. was positive she’d never even set foot on the premises before. And he wasn’t anybody’s goddamn inspiration. He was just tired. He wanted to be far away from here, on a beach, with JJ. Somewhere nobody knew their names, and the ocean kept stretching out beyond them forever, a thousand thousand miles of sun and storm and surf that Ward Cameron had never, ever touched. 

JJ stiffened beside him. 

It took John B. a moment, but eventually he caught on to the threat too. Rafe Cameron was weaving in and out of the crowd, in a seemingly aimless manner, a placid smile pasted on his face. But it was clear that his wandering was bringing him closer and closer to where JJ and John B. were sitting. 

John B. remembered the last time he’d seen Rafe up close… the broken finger, the spasm of humiliation that had crossed Rafe’s face, the threat of more pain for John B. 

Whatever reason Rafe was circling them like a shark closing in on prey, it wasn’t good.

John B.’s mind immediately started racing, weighing their options. His fingers closed around JJ’s, and he could feel the faint trembling in his friend’s hand. JJ hadn’t been seriously beaten since they’d fucked up his leg, and John B. knew he was dreading what would happen when that damaged muscle took another blow. 

Was it possible Rafe had found out about their escape plan? But how could he, they hadn’t breathed a word to anyone? And surely they couldn’t be punished for something they didn’t even get the chance to do?

The public setting was their only protection. With all that media crammed in the hall, there was no way Rafe could hurt them if they just stayed close to the cameras. On the other hand, if he tried to force them to leave and they made a big disruption to Ward’s precious ceremony, who knows what would happen to them once the skies cleared and the doors closed behind the last visitor?

John B. was guessing it would make Barry seem like a stand-up guy. 

John B.’s panic spiral was interruppted by the lights, which flickered again, and then, with a final burst of staticky feedback from the microphone, winked out. 

They didn’t come back on. 

Somewhere in the confusion of adults groaning and teens whooping, John B. felt his wrist grabbed in a hard, icy grip. John B. let himself be led through the darkness, crouching low, as JJ dodged his way through the crowd with expert stealth, although he was limping heavily. John B. had to lunge to catch him at one point when his leg seemed to just give out, but they made it to the edge of the room, in a hidden corner behind the stage set-up, before JJ collapsed entirely.

JJ’s face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his eyes fluttered… he looked on the verge of passing out after forcing his ruined leg into that run. The sick feeling in John B.’s stomach grew as he watched JJ’s chest heaving, as he choked on the truth he didn’t want to believe. 

JJ was fucking right. His leg was too bad to escape. 

Chaos was still rampant. Ward was yelling from the stage for everyone to stay calm, but was having trouble making himself heard over the hubbub of seventy-three teenage boys, a couple dozen angry adults, and a small group of nervous teacher’s pets. Apart from the cold blue light of the visitor’s cell phones waving wildly in the crowd, the darkness was absolute. 

Which made it even more fucking terrifying when Rafe grabbed John B. from behind. 

“You think you can hide from me, pretty boy?” Rafe slurred. John B. gasped and struggled viciously to get out of the headlock. The smell of Rafe’s stale sweat filled John B.’s nostrils as he tightened his hold. “Can’t nobody hide from me,” Rafe muttered.

John B. had seen some shit before Cameron House, and he’d previously suspected that Rafe was occasionally under the influence of something a little stronger than Gatorade. 

At this moment, there was no doubt that Rafe was strung out off his ass.

“Leave him alone, fuckin’ bastard,” JJ hissed, trying hard to stand up despite the fact that his face was colorless and his whole body was shaking. 

“Make me,” spat Rafe, sounding for all the world like a bratty little kid. “I know y’all are plotting something, I know you’re trying to destroy me.”

“You’re paranoid, man,” John B. gasped, trying to wriggle out from Rafe’s iron grip. “Let’s just talk it out.”

“I don’t fucking like talking, you little shit. You just shuttup right now, you hear me?”

Black spots appearing on the edge of John B.’s vision. Rafe had always been an asshole, but he’d never been this unhinged. 

He bucked, trying to get free. Then he caught sight of JJ’s face, becoming if possible, even more pale as his eyes locked on something behind John B.’s shoulder. Then, bizarrely, he smiled. 

“Hey!” called a girl’s voice. “The fuck are you doing?”

“This doesn’t concern you, Sarah,” Rafe huffed, not looking back at her. “Go back with the other kids.” 

John B. had only known Sarah for a tiny amount of time, but he already knew she didn’t like being told what to do. The clicking of her heeled footsteps got faster. 

“Sarah, what’s going on?” That was another girl’s voice, with a note of panic in it. 

“Ummm, should we go get someone?” That voice was a boy’s, way too naive and innocent-sounding to be a Cameron House kid. 

At the sound of the newcomers, Rafe released his hold. John B. staggered away as fast as he could, wheezing for air and practically falling on top of JJ, who immediately wrapped a protective arm around him. 

“See you around, fuckers,” Rafe said with a creepy-ass smile, before he shot off towards the exit.

“I hate you!” yelled Sarah after him. Her voice was mangled enough that John B. could tell she actually meant it. 

“Um, are they okay?” the nervous boy’s voice again. 

Sarah walked towards them, her eyes glinting with anger and unshed tears. There were two unfamilar teens with her, looking anxiously around. 

“I’m so sorry, John B.” she whispered. “He failed his drug test and Dad kicked him out. He wasn’t supposed to be allowed in here.”

John B.’s throat was burning too much to respond.

“Damn, I thought my family sucked,” JJ said, and the friendliness in his voice shocked John B. JJ didn’t trust many people enough to use that warm tone. 

It seemed that saving John B.’s life was enough for Sarah to make the list. 

“Thanks,” John B. gasped raggedly. 

Sarah just shook her head, her face twisting into an expression that had far too much sorrow and anger to be a smile. 

“Hey, um, so we were actually going to go to this place in the attic that I used to hide in when I was little, and uh, smoke some weed.”

She paused, and the other two teens sidled up on either side of her, looking warily at where JJ and John B. were tangled in a heap on the ground. The girl had long, curly dark hair and seemed very ill at ease in her pencil skirt. The guy was wiry and nerdy-looking, in a too-big suit. 

“This is Kie and Pope,” Sarah said, and the other two gave weak smiles. Sarah squatted down and offered her hand. “So, um, do you guys want to join us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth. My muse, under the influence of trying to please everybody, drove off and into a ditch. I think I'm back in terms of knowing how this story will unfold, but I can't promise weekly updates... just know that I will eventually update, and I'm grateful for all of you for caring about these boys!
> 
> Take care, and let me know what you think! <3


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